The rain beat on the streaky windows.

The sky a smudge of brown and gray.

The haze brought a feeling of disappointment and depression to this morning.

This Monday morning.

The trees drooped, feeling the weight of the mood of this tiresome morning.

The grass, though wild and damp, even seemed weepier than usual.

This morning.

This Monday morning.

I stare at the golden crackling fire.

Its sparks dissipating,

through the moonlit sky.

The black logs burn,

though they are nothing but ash.

I smell the smoke and see my friends.

My friends.

What a gift from God,

just like the fire.

I stared out the window

of the rusty aging van.

I long to leap out,

but I cannot.

I want to feel the cool wind

on my face.

I want to run

through the lush green forests,

although they are dead.

I want to chase the soft silver clouds,

that abide in that azure blue sky.

I want to gallop

through the trees toward the clouds,

but I stay in the sputtery van.

Maybe I can, but not today.

Then I say to myself,

Thank you Lord,

for the shamrock green forests

and the trickling streams.

The clouds that bring fog and mist.

For the sky of deep blue.

Lord, thank you.